


Deflegration

by BoltedBee



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), Team Fortress 2
Genre: Bickering, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 09:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20673038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoltedBee/pseuds/BoltedBee
Summary: It's just another day before work, but Jamison is having doubts about his position. Naturally, Tavish is there to reassure him.





	Deflegration

**Author's Note:**

> I recently fell in love with the idea of these two as a couple rather than a quarreling pair like some might perceive them. They're coincidentally my favorites of each fandom, so here's this fic.
> 
> This is also my first time writing a Scottish or Australian accent so please tell me if I'm overdoing it or otherwise.

The sudden, shrill alarm clock on the nightstand was shut off by a sloppy, dark hand. It quickly slid off and rejoined its place on the shoulder of a much paler partner. Tavish gripped the firm muscle in a sort of urging to the other sleeping man.

“Time to get up,” he said.

Jamison groaned a negative and buried his face more firmly into the pillow he rested in. He knew he could only ignore his lover for so long, but every day, he was determined to draw it out.

“Ain't gonna tell yeh twice,” Tavish murmured into the nape of Jamison's neck. Somewhat in warning, some in passive mention. He pushed himself up and blindly groped beyond the foot-railing of their bed to find a weighty, prosthetic arm. As if on cue, the smaller man held out his incomplete arm, waiting for the limb to be attached. Tavish brought the two together, letting the artificial extremity connect to its host. Jamison groaned in discomfort as he flexed the digits on it, then let it fall in front of him so he could attempt to go back to sleep. Tavish gave him a few light slaps on the tattooed upper arm. “C'mon, lad.”

“Caffeine,” Jamison whined, burying his face in the pillow.

“Coffee's brewin' right now. Getcher leg and come get breakfast.” Despite Jamison's continued protests, Tavish rubbed the sleep from his single eye and pulled himself from the comfort of his bed and walked out of the room wearing nothing more than red plaid pajama pants. He stopped bothering with the eyepatch first thing in the morning.

Tavish trudged down the hallway to the kitchen where the coffee he promised his boyfriend was indeed brewing, making nearly eight cups worth as it dripped from the decanter. He scrubbed the short, dark curls on his head as he debated making eggs that morning rather than toasted waffles. He decided the protein was a better idea and pulled the carton from the refrigerator and the proper pan from the cabinet next to it.

By the time Tavish was halfway done with his three eggs, he finally heard the telltale sign of Jamison's peg-leg coming down the hallway. The paler man yawned as he rounded the corner, for the moment ignoring Tavish's presence and pulling a bowl from the cabinet adjacent from him and a box of cereal from the top of the refrigerator. He still refused to put anything on over his boxers until he dressed for work; Tavish was surprised the younger man bothered to brush his hair after he got out of bed.

“You sure yeh don't want eggs?” Tavish asked.

“Yeah,” Jamison replied, dumping the marshmallow-riddled confection into his bowl.

“I don't see how that gets ye through the day,” he added in disbelief, sliding his own breakfast onto a plate. He pulled out two mugs from the cabinet above him and poured coffee into both, adding two teaspoons of sugar for Jamison and a splash of whiskey to his own.

“Ain't the cereal keeps me goin',” Jamison said, finishing off his cereal with milk and a spoon. He took a seat at the small, round table centered in the kitchen while Tavish finished his eggs with salt and pepper. “You got the double-shot, roight?”

“Aye, but it's better for yeh to cut back, lad. Folks at the lab get nervous when yeh go talkin' aboot yer new ideas as fast as yeh do.” Tavish brought both mugs of coffee to the table before his own plate of food, joining his partner at the table.

Even with a mouthful of wheat and marshmallows, Jamison still insisted on talking through it; “You know I talk faster 'n think.”

“I do know, but it ain't how other folk operate. Ya need ta know when ta slow it down, Jamie.” Tavish took a swig of his spiced coffee as he waited for the other to swallow his food.

“Or maybe they should learn to keep up, eh?” Jamison countered with a little titter. “I think it's 'bout time they took me off probation. I mean you got the high rankin' and all so you'd be the one ta make the call.” Jamison eyed his boyfriend a moment before he shoved the last bits of marshmallow into his face and swallow the milk quickly afterward, wanting a prompt response from Tavish.

“Look, Jamie,” Tavish started, downing a bit of egg as he began, “It ain't jus' me. Yeh need ta give it some time-”

“Been a year, Tav. Ain't I gained enough trust? Bloody oath, gettin' real sick'a someone watchin' over my back when I'm tryin' ta work.”

“I know, lad. But it ain't easy getting' someone of your history inta a job like 'es. Can't blame 'em too much for bein' cautious.”

Jamison scoffed as he stared for several, long moment into his empty cereal bowl. His frustration grew enough that he wanted to sling the ceramic into the nearest wall, but refrained from doing so. It was hardly fair he was treated differently at work despite his extensive experience with explosives and his overall positive record with the company with minimal incident. “Still real shit they don't treat me same as you,” he mentioned as he stood, picking up his bowl and dropping it in the sink. “I know just as much.”

Tavish gave the younger man a moment to process his own words. He knew Jamie was intelligent when it came to almost any volatile material, but he feared the overzealous love of them might overshadow his actual work requirements. They'd discussed it before, but it was always on Tavish's mind when they went to work, especially after Jamison had been admonished once or twice before for favoring large explosives to more concise ones, but that wasn't nearly enough to have him demoted or worse. “I know how you feel, Jamie. I do. They treated me like nothin' when I started too, but you gotta keep pushin' through that shite. Really show 'em what yer made of.”

“But they don't recognize my genius, Tav. I'm just some ex-con ta them.” Jamison rejoined Tavish at the table and sipped his coffee cautiously, suddenly second-guessing himself with a nervous chuckle before he spoke. “What if they never accept me as one'a their own? Am I s'posed ta just be a housewoife?”

“You paid yer dues,” Tavish reassured him. “Not like your past is any'a their business anyway.” He finished off his protein and too dumped it in the sink to be washed later. “Don't worry aboot them. Jobs like ours are in short order-”

“Ain't what I mean,” Jamison interrupted. “Couldn't care less what they think 'a me, I just don't want 'em affectin' my ability to get promoted. I worked with suits before; if they don't like me, they'll try 'n sabotage me.”

Tavish felt a twinge of disappointment that the blonde felt that way about the people he worked closely with and he briefly wondered if the other coats really treated him so poorly. At the same time, he couldn't help but be proud that Jamison knew his worth. “They couldn't hold you back if they tried, Jamie. You're still doin' well for how short a'time you been there, long past 'em thinkin' yer a wee radge.”

“Yeah, but-” Jamison paused, an unfortunate bout of worry infecting his voice. “I wanna work near you. You're the only one really gets me.” He sipped more at his coffee as he waited from a response from his boyfriend. “Practically made my home here after leavin' Australia, didn't I? Ain't the same but ain't like I'd trade it for nothin'. I got you and I got this upstart suit job, so I want it to work.” Jamison took another long swig of his coffee before quickly adding, “Don't want ya to think I'm whinging or nothing.”

“She'll be right,” Tavish said. “Trust me, Jamison. The other coats know that you know what yer doin'. Yer methods are jus' unorthodox.” The paler man started to argue but Tavish cut in again, “Don't worry yerself. Just keep doin' yer best and upper echelon won't bother you none so long as yer getting' results.”

Jamison muttered an incomprehensible response as he peered into his nearly-empty coffee mug. “Maybe this job is too constrainin' for me.”

“Maybe.” Tavish stood and walked behind the seated man and took a hair-tie from his infinite pajama pockets. Gently he brushed back the loose, blonde locks in to a high ponytail, vaguely acceptable for their line of work. “Give it a bit more time, eh? Try'n focus on the task at hand rather than how you used ta do things. I love yeh Jamie, but I ain't blind to your love of explosives.”

“Oi, they're only one 'a the two things that solve everything!” Jamison said with a short giggle. Though he hated being lectured, he knew Tavish meant well when it pertained to his career. “But, I guess I can try an' focus in a different direction. Fa you, oi reckon.”

“Weren't fer me, you'd still be a problem child in the wasteland. Now come on, let's get ready for work.”

Tavish urged Jamison back to the bedroom where they shared a few, sparse kisses; the older man having to stand completely upright to reach Jamison's lips. Despite the radiation that infected the now-desolate country of Australia, it did grant its residence with many an abnormality, some of which were luckily not the lethal sort. Luckily for Jamison, it was extra height and a few, adorable freckles, if Tavish had anything to say about it. Perhaps even the unhinged obsession with explosives. Regardless, Tavish was glad to bring the younger man back to Scotland where they could both live in relative harmony.

The two slipped on the most formal of attire of white button-downs and black slacks – which Jamison often hated – Tavish adding his eyepatch around his head before keeping one leg of Jamison's pants tied above his peg. Completely ready for work, they headed back to the living room. As Jamison went for the door, Tavish stopped him. “Aren't ye forgettin' something?”

The taller man looked around the room in thought but came up with nothing. “Don't think so?”

Tavish rolled his eye and went to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door and pulling out two distinctly-colored lunchboxes. He handed the deep green one to a sheepish blonde, keeping the red for himself. “One'a these days, you'll hafta make yer own sandwiches.”

“Aww but Tav, you make 'em better!” Jamison defended with a wide grin.

“Aye, sure I do.” Tavish smirked and shooed him out the door, grabbing keys and both name tags that read “T. DeGroot” and “J. Fawkes” respectively as he followed to the hover car. He loved the younger man deeply and only wanted the best for him. Even if the worst-case scenario happened and Jamison lost his “fancy suit job”, Tavish could still support the both of them. But he knew where Jamison was meant to be, and he would support his love wholeheartedly no matter where he ended up.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and comments and crits are greatly appreciated.


End file.
